


with you with you with you

by threepwillow



Category: Glee
Genre: Bodyswap, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Recreational Drug Use, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5319227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threepwillow/pseuds/threepwillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mason and Madison are the last to arrive at the New Directions Hella Fiesta, but they don't miss any of the action: they sing some duets, drink some alcohol, eat Noah Puckerman's weed brownies, and wake up in each other's bodies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with you with you with you

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted January 18 on Tumblr, so this crazily precedes the very similar party stuff in Transitioning. Explicit incest, catalyzed by a body swap, catalyzed by drug use. Three for three amirite! I adore these two more than is probably at all rational, but what can you do.

“Oh my god, drink this."   
  
That’s the first thing anyone says to Mason at all, the instant he and Madison shuffle awkwardly through the door at their first ever New Directions Hella Fiesta, hosted in the surprisingly lax family home of Brittany S. Pierce. It’s less than two weeks until sectionals and stress is running high through the whole group, and while Kurt had suggested a group yoga session followed by a friendly smoothie blend-off contest - which Mason and Madison were totally on board for the whole time, let the record show - Santana and Noah Puckerman shot him down in about two seconds and insisted that the best way to unwind was to go totally crazy. It’s not logic that Mason entirely follows but he’s willing to go along with it when brooking an argument seems to be a Lima Heights Adjacent-level bad idea waiting to happen.   
  
"What is it?” he and Madison ask at once, uncertain to whom the drink is being offered.   
  
“Purple!” Rachel crows, shaking it toward them. It sloshes over the rim and Madison titters on her tiptoes backward into Mason’s chest, trying not to get scary mystery drink on her party shoes. He steadies her at her elbow even as he tries not to get a mouthful of her ponytail.   
  
“Yooo, are Babs and Buster finally here?” shouts Santana from a far-off room they can’t see into. “I didn’t think y'all would make it!”  
  
“Babs and Buster aren’t related,” Brittany points out all-sufferingly - then, “Wait, oh my god, are the Mastodons not related? All this  _time_  - ”  
  
Rachel loops her arms through each of theirs and hauls them into the festivities. They’re clearly the last to arrive, considering they had three hours of Cheerio practice this afternoon and then had to spend another hour listening to Kitty Wilde tell them about how glee club is even more incestuous than they are and they’ll never get into Heaven at this rate and threatening - emptily, as usual, she can’t afford to lose them, no one matches up with Paxton size-wise for the pyramid except Mason and  _no one_  flies as high as Mads - to kick them off the squad if they so much appear tagged in one Facebook photo from this night. So everyone else is there: There’s Puck teaching Roderick how to make some kind of shot that looks even more dangerous than the purple; there’s Mercedes Jones, getting what looks suspiciously like a lapdance from Coach Evans and laughing through the whole thing; there’s Kurt, sitting far too patient and sober in the corner with his super stylish Dalton boyfriend’s head lying in his lap; there’s Tina, her face already flushed brilliant red with drink, about to do another shot with Brittany, Santana and Jane.   
  
Mason purses his lips a little to moisten them when they go dry looking at Jane. She has really nice lipstick on.   
  
(At his left shoulder, Madison has opened up her little chain-and-clamshell purse, and a second later she presses a chapstick into his hands. It’s her vanilla, not his Burt’s Bees, but he tweaks the inside of her wrist  _thanks_  with his thumb and slides some on.)   
  
Rachel’s off to one side standing up on a low-slung wooden hope chest, and the purple drink in her hand has vanished and been replaced with a microphone - which she is now also, aggressively, offering to him or to Madison or both of them.  
  
“Everyone else’s sung already!” she tells them. “You gotta go!”  
  
“Go, go, go,” Brittany starts chanting, and everyone else is doing it too now, Coach Evans thrusting his hips in time with the beat of it, Puck and Jane and Santana pumping their fists. And - okay, maybe Mason’s never been to a New Directions Hella Fiesta before, but they definitely know their way around a duet. And the rest, they can sort of - wing it. He exchanges a resolute look with Mads, and nods, and she turns to the rest of them and says,  
  
“Shots and then singing!”  
  
They drank too much communion wine when they were six because they thought it was grape juice, so this is only the second time Mason has really been drunk, and only the first time he’s been able to like, appreciate it. Because it’s nice - the party moves kind of in cycles, a round of drinking and individual conversations and giggles, then a round of the whole group doing something together like performing or playing a game, and then repeat. He gets to know Kurt’s boyfriend - Blaine - a little better, giggling and shivering with ticklishness as he pats astonishedly at Mason’s hair, and he learns that he likes dark rum better than light rum, which is great because so does Madison. He sings Under Pressure with Blaine, Roderick and Kurt, which is really super fun, and a Pierces song with Mads because they’ve been rewatching Pretty Little Liars lately, and a Tegan and Sara song with Mads, and the 3Oh!3 part in Blah Blah Blah because Brittany as Ke$ha decides that he’s the bounciest, whatever that means. He’s really good at the rhyming part of Kings and Madison is really good at the categories part. Jane and Mercedes do Beyoncé and Nicki and Jane looks right at him through one whole verse and his stomach turns with more than liquor and Madison elbows him suggestively in the ribs.   
  
It’s almost 11pm on a Thursday and they’re probably going to have to leave soon when Puck, who’d disappeared for a second, pops back out of what Mason  _thinks_  is the kitchen with a glass eight-by-eight full of thick, yummy-looking brownies. Sam and Santana whoop with excitement, and when Tina goes “Ohmigosh,  _yes_ , chocolate, gimme,” Puck laughs at her in a way that even drunk Mason knows is a little weird. But he’s enough drunk that he’s having a little trouble putting two and two together, and it’s not until after he and Mads have laughingly shoved big bites of brownie into each other’s faces that it occurs to him -  
  
There’s probably weed in these.  
  
He whispers it to her, right in her ear, as quiet as he can manage which is so not very quiet: “There’s probably weed in these.”  
  
Madison laughs. “I  _know_ , right?” She smooths out the rumpled shawl collar of his sweater. He reaches across her lap to her little purse and gets his phone out of it. He suddenly wants to google the term “crossfaded."   
  
"Noah Puckerman, are you giving weed brownies to  _children_?” hisses Mercedes, smacking him in the arm. Santana, Tina, Sam, Blaine and Roderick all have their mouths full; Jane and Rachel have already swallowed, and are looking down at the pan with distaste and shock. Puck just laughs and shrugs.   
  
Madison protests, faintly, “Hey, we’re not children.”  
  
Blaine nods very seriously. “They’re about the same age as some of us were at that first Rachel Berry House Party Extravaganza!” Kurt shoves his shoulder hard and he rocks and wobbles to the side before righting himself like one of those punchable clowns, laughs. Mason gives Mads an eyebrow - there’s a story there they haven’t heard.   
  
“Whatever!” shouts Tina. “Crunk selfie!”  
  
“Crunk selfie!” Brittany and Sam agree, and soon, they’re all shifting across the floor into a pile, leaning on each other and laughing and kissing each other’s cheeks. Tina bonks her nose into Mason’s cheekbone and says “Hey, M &M, you’ve got the longest arms, will you take it?” Her phone is a little slick from her sweating palms as she smushes it into his hand. It feels way weirder than he was expecting. He sticks his arm out and hopes he’s pressing the right button as they pose with brownies half-in their mouths or each other's  _tongues_  half in their mouths or, in Sam’s case, his shirt tugged up to display his super-hot abs. He takes a couple, just to be sure.  
  
Then he and Madison shout it at once: “Don’t put those on Facebook!!”  
  
—  
  
Madison is so hungry.  
  
“I’m so hungry,” she tells Mason, her voice small and distant. They’re lying on their backs on the floor in a heap, his head on her stomach and Tina’s head on his stomach and Blaine’s head on Tina’s and so forth, a little chain of them who’ve become too incapacitated by the brownies and the purple to be doing much of anything. It’s fun because every time one of them giggles the whole lot of them end up laughing too. It reminds her of summer camp. It was Mason’s idea and it was a really good one. In the other corner, Jane and Brittany are trying to teach Kurt and Rachel “the wobble” and it is going…  _so_  poorly. Madison laughs, and warms at the feeling of Mase’s head bobbing up and down against her.  
  
“ _I’m_  so hungry!” gasps Tina, as if it’s only just now occurring to her, too. “Why are all the brownies gone? Aren’t there like…cookies? Or - a Twix bar…."   
  
"A Twix bar,” Madison and Mason breathe in unison, overwhelmed. That sounds amazing.  
  
“Kurrrt!” Blaine shouts, pitching up just a little. “No wait,  _Sam_! Sam will you get me a bag of those - little itty bitty - baby Twix bars?"   
  
"We don’t have any candy!” Kurt informs him, and the whole pile of them groans.   
  
“You could - ”  
  
“Just because I’m DD does not mean I am driving to Sheetz and buying you losers stoner snacks!”  
  
Madison sighs, and tries to roll over on her side before she remembers that Mase is still on top of her. She only makes it a little way, her body curling up in a little twist around his head, and his hair ruffles a little against her bare tummy where her blouse starts riding up.  
  
“Come with me to the kitchen,” Tina says, and Blaine says “Okay!” and they stumble and roll up off the floor, somehow. It kind of hurts Madison just to look at; she can’t imagine standing all the way up on both feet now, because she feels like she's  _floating_.  
  
“I’m so floaty,” Mason says. He tries to lift his arm but it falls back down again, the back of his hand smacking her in the thigh. “Woooo.”  
  
“Wooooo,” she agrees, and they keep doing it, “woooooo,” shifting into funny harmonies and weird blue notes up and down. Somebody’s turned the Wobble song up louder and Madison can feel the bassline up into her skin through the fibers of this beige-pink rug. She rests the back of her own hand in Mason’s upturned palm and her eyes drift closed.  
  
She doesn’t remember opening them, but she must, because she feels like she can see - but it’s like - she’s seeing too much,  _floating_ , not down in her own body but up in the air. She can see her ponytail dragging through a little dribble of where someone spilled the purple on the floor, can see that Mase’s shoe is untied, and that there’s a little smudge of color just under his ear, the ghost of Jane’s nice lipstick that she hadn’t noticed there before. Cool, she thinks. And she feels like she can feel - hear - Mason thinking back, Thanks. Like he’s floating right there next to her, around her, through her. It’s warm and dear  _god_  it’s trippy.  
  
Madison falls asleep, and never gets a Twix bar.  
  
When she wakes back up at god knows what hour of the early morning, her head is pounding with one part hangover to two parts panic. They are so past curfew and Dad is going to ground both of them for infinity. They were supposed to leave  _hours_  ago. She scrambles around them blindly for her purse, tugs it open and digs past her wallet and Mason’s phone before she finds her own, smashing her thumb into the fingerprint sensor and praying she only has like, six or seven missed calls from her parents and that no one’s called the  _police_  -   
  
Her phone sits blinking at her, still locked. She retaps her thumb, holds it down harder, longer, and still nothing. She scowls and murmurs “ _what the_ ” and her voice is scratchy and dark and  _low_. It’s not her voice at all. It’s Mason’s voice.   
  
Madison shoots straight up to seated, fully awake now, and looks down at herself, hands and arms held out, mind reeling. She is wearing Mason’s nice chunky green sweater she helped him pick out and also Mason’s grey jeans and also Mason’s skin. When she moves her arm, it’s Mason’s hand that pads against her opposite arm and across her - or  _his_  - stubbled jaw and up through product-curled hair. When she stretches her legs out they’re a good six inches longer and they end in Mason’s size-thirteen brogues. And curled next to her, still curled underneath the blue afghan that someone must have draped across them at some point in the night, is a smaller, softer body, the only one Madison knows better than the one she’s in now.  
  
Her own.  
  
“Mason!” she hisses - or tries to, but it comes out as a sleep-muddled gurgle and it sounds so  _low_ , is this really how he sounds inside his own head instead of out loud? She clears her throat and tries again - she has to do way different things to her mouth to be quiet in this voice, pitches her resonators way down and forward - “Mason, I sure as heck hope that’s you in there, please wake up - ” She gives the lump that’s the hip of her own body a shove with Mase’s wide hand. “Mason!"   
  
The other form stirs, and sits half-up, groaning a little, "What - wait - oh my  _g_  - ”  
  
“Shhh!” She jerks a hand up to cover his/her own mouth before Mason can scream with it, eyes trying to focus into the dark of the room to try to see who’s still here. Brittany and Santana are sleeping piled on top of each other on the sofa, and Tina’s passed out curled up in an arm chair. Puck and Roderick are also asleep on the floor, and there’s a cat snuffling in a mostly-empty bag of puffy Cheetos near the base of the tall, spindly floor lamp. It looks like Kurt took everyone else home, which is kind of a relief - the fewer people they have to talk to before they figure out what the  _crap_  is going on, the better. She’s hoping not to wake anyone up at all.  
  
Mason’s more awake now, and he’s figuring it out, so she slowly drops her/his hand from his/her face. She sees him blinking her eyes owlishly in the dark. “M…Mads?” he whispers. She purses her/his lips, and nods.   
  
“We’ve gotta get out of here,” she says, and he nods. Together they help each other to standing, and she passes her phone to him, so he can use the correct fingerprint to turn its light on and scout around for her shoes, which she’d kicked off near the start of their marijuana adventure. He bends to tug them back on, but she shakes her head - she’s never seen Mason even  _try_  to walk in heels, and now is not a really great time for him to start. Instead, she crouches down a little, and lets him hop up onto her back piggy-back. It makes her smile, just a tiny bit, for the first time since this weirdness hit; Madison hasn’t been able to give  _him_  a piggy-back ride in a good eight or nine years.  
  
Once they’ve navigated - obscenely clumsily, blissfully quietly - back out of the unfamiliar house, Mason twists the front door open as silently as he can and they sneak back to their car, where she drops him into the driver’s seat before slinking around to the passenger side. The seats are adjusted for their regular selves and they have to reposition everything, sliding it forward and back. Mason does not turn the ignition.   
  
“What the  _hell?_ ” he finally screams, slamming a palm hard on the steering wheel.  
  
She knows exactly how he feels.   
  
“Look,” she says, his voice cracking over her words, “we’ve only got…” She checks his phone. “Like five hours until we have to be at school. We need to get home and make our excuses to Dad and Celeste and then you have to teach me how to shave my face and I have to - put makeup on you - because - oh my  _god_.” It’s finally kind of hitting her: she and Mason are  _in each other’s bodies_. How do they go to school like this? How do they do  _anything_  like this?  
  
“No, wait, no.” He takes a huge, deep breath, flaring her nostrils out wide, and then he reaches out and snatches up her hand and lacing their fingers over the gear shift. “It’s - it’s just you and me, Mads,” he says, and she almost laughs, because carried on her voice it sounds like she’s talking to herself. “Maybe if I’d switched bodies with like - Kitty Wilde - things would be hard and weird and awful. But I  _know_  you, okay? You  _know_  me.” He lifts their joined hands up to his mouth -  _her_  mouth, god, it’s her mouth, but she has to stop thinking about it like that - and pecks the lightest little kiss to the back of her knuckles. “Do the one thing first.”  
  
“Do the one thing first,” she repeats. Like Mom has always told them - work on the problems any one kid would have (like how totally super grounded they are about to be) before they get too caught up in problems that only twins could have - the two thing. Like Mason, Madison is just assuming that suddenly swapping bodies with your twin is a very twin-specific thing. Mase keys the ignition and drives them home.   
  
All things considered, the curfew situation doesn’t turn out too bad. They are super grounded forever - school, Cheerios, and glee club meetings only, or else straight home - but they’ve never missed curfew before, and once he knows they’re okay, Dad seems more mad about being woken up after finally getting to sleep than about them breaking the rules. He doesn’t even check their breath for alcohol which is a huge relief. And if he notices them acting shifty, twitchy in their own skin - each other’s skin - he doesn’t say anything. Celeste sleeps through the whole thing.   
  
Dangling Madison’s shoes from two fingers, Mason scuttles up the stairs, and she’s right behind him, trying not to look at her own ass and how chunky it looks, ugh, who let her wear these jeans to a social event? She pauses at the door to her room and he keeps walking down to his, but then they kind of realize what’s happening.  
  
He flicks his gaze down,  _Oh_.   
  
She shrugs,  _Should I?_    
  
He shakes his head. “Just - here.” He presses the shoes into her hands, and then waves a little, dipping into his room. She imagines her own self sprawled into Mason’s sheets, imagines him waking up still in her body (and oh, god, when they wake up, will he still be in her body?) and trying to curl his bangs into place before he realizes. She imagines the makeup she put on for the party smeared into his creamy pillowcase because he forgot to wash it off.   
  
Madison ducks Mason’s body into her own room, deposits the party shoes on the floor of her closet in their designated spot, and sacks out in her bed still fully clothed, Mason’s long legs dangling feet off over the end of the bedframe.  
  
—  
  
When he wakes up again in the morning proper, Mason thinks that maybe it was all a dream. He got drunk and high at Brittany’s house and tripped out so hard that he hallucinated himself into Madison’s body, that after sixteen years they finally melded into one another and shared the same space, a brownie-induced Lindsay Lohan nightmare. But when he flings out his arm to shut his alarm clock off, it comes up a few centimeters short of the end table, and when he squints down at it in the pre-dawn light filtering through his blinds, he’s wearing cranberry-red nail polish and a tinkling golden charm bracelet. And if this  _is_  a dream, Mason is still dreaming. He inches closer to the clock until he can press snooze, and then thinks better of it and just forces himself awake and upright. They don’t have much time before they have to leave for school to get everything right.  
  
It occurs to him, suddenly, that he’s going to have to wear Madison’s uniform, which is, of course, in Madison’s room. He books it over to his door to their shared bathroom and tugs it open, only to find Mads already standing there, doing the exact same thing, in his body. God, his face really does need shaving. She holds out a little bundle of red and white, and he smiles sheepishly, and takes it from her, murmuring, “Be right back.” He darts back out and tosses the uniform onto his bed, pulling his own uniform out of a folded stack of laundry and bringing it back to her. They smile at each other in the no-man’s-land of the bathroom.  
  
“Hurry,” she finally says.  
  
“Yeah."   
  
Quickly, fumbling and pointedly not looking down at Madison’s body or over at his closet-door mirror as he changes, Mason tugs the skirt up to his waist and zips the zipper, wriggles the cold-weather long sleeve top down over his head. There’s a lot less give to it than there is to his own uniform - does she really deal with this every day? He plucks around at it awkwardly until it lays right over her - chest, and then scurries back to the bathroom. Mads is already there, staring hard into her (his) face in the mirror, checking the angles of his jaw, squashing her finger into his nose.  
  
"Sorry,” she whispers. “It’s just so - much.”  
  
“I know,” he says. “Here, come on, do my makeup and I’ll shave your face.”  
  
He sits down on the closed toilet seat, legs sliding outward on instinct to make room for stuff before he realizes that he’s in her body and there’s no  _stuff_  to make room for. Instead he just feels it settle weird in his (her) hips, like the way he feels when he pops a joint doing leg stretches at Cheerio practice except softer, not a sudden  _pop_  as much as a faint, hovering presence of sensation. Madison doesn’t say anything, just crowds right into the space between his spread legs and tugs her watermelon-patterned makeup bag out of the drawer where it goes, rifling through clumsily with Mason’s hands until she finds what she needs, setting it aside and grabbing her washcloth to clean off what’s left from yesterday. It’s oddly intimate, her stroking all over his face with his eyes fluttering shut, but it’s - calming. It’s nice to know that even here in this weirdest-thing-that’s-ever-happened situation, Mads is still with him.   
  
“Okay, what’s my class schedule?” she quizzes, and then. “Open your eyes and look up.”  
  
He does as he’s told. “Ooh, okay, so geometry first block with me - then - computer science? Free period before lunch so we’ll go to the choir room - second lunch - oh, crap, who’s your history teacher?”  
  
“Ramirez.”  
  
“Ramirez! Okay so I have to hurry out of lunch pretty quick once the bell rings to make it to that side of the school. History, then Latin with me. Ow!” She’s caught him in the eye with a mascara wand, and she rolls her eyes at him.  
  
“Hold  _still_.”  
  
“Okay, okay. Now you do me.”  
  
“Geometry, AP English, glee, lunch, uhhhh chemistry, Latin."   
  
"Nailed it.” He holds his palm out daintily for a low five and she slaps him one, just a little too hard. They both wince.  
  
“Sorry, sorry. You’re uh. You’re stronger than I thought.” Her (his) cheeks color a little with it, and Mason smiles.   
  
“All the better to basket-toss you with, girl.” He flutters her eyelashes at her and she laughs. “Are you caught up on the reading for English?”  
  
“I think so. God, I’m so out of it. Are you like super hung over or is it just your body that’s a lightweight?”  
  
“No, my head is like, the worst right now,” he assures her. She finishes up on his eyes and then pats him on the knee, and he hops up.   
  
“Okay you’re good except for lip gloss which I’m pretty sure you can do yourself, just wait till after you brush your teeth, obvi. You wanna trade?” She wriggles around him, trying to squeeze through the space between him and the edge of the bathroom counter, and realizing too late that she’s bigger than she’s used to and she can’t. Their hips get locked together awkwardly for a second or two before Mason shuffles further away to give her the space she needs, and then she sits on the toilet seat instead, trying to cross her legs like she’s used to before she realizes - she can’t.  
  
“Ooh!” she says, wincing. “Oh, man.”  
  
“Yeah,” he tells her. “Okay, so, hot water first….”  
  
—  
  
It’s kind of awesome, how easily they adjust to it during school.  
  
They almost sit in the wrong seats in math class, but they catch themselves at the last minute, grinning at each other and sharing Madison’s water bottle back and forth throughout in an attempt to rehydrate at long last. Mrs. Hellmann has them swap quizzes with partners to grade them, but today it just results in Mason scoring his own. (He’s totally honest about it, though, of course. He definitely got that one theorem pretty botched.) The computer science teacher doesn’t seem to really care much about what they’re doing, so Mason just pulls up the project Madison is supposed to be working on and leaves it on the screen to click over to whenever he strolls by, getting on Facebook instead. (He’s thankful to see that no photos from the party appear to be posted anywhere, except for a nice one of Blaine, Kurt and Rachel that betrays none of their wasted antics.) And Mason  _isn’t_  quite caught up on the reading for English, so sending Madison off to deal with that in his place is kind of a huge relief. Other than being like, hyper aware of everything he does with his (her) body - he learned his lesson about spreading his legs, but his center of gravity is so different that he’s a little unsteady on his feet if he has to make any sudden movements, and he doesn’t quite know how to position himself in chairs to look natural  _and_  be comfortable, and he keeps reaching up to touch at his face only to remember he’s wearing makeup and he’ll smear it - he kind of gets a real feel for living Madison’s life. He’s just glad he remembered the combination to her locker.   
  
They reconvene in the choir room but people’s Friday block schedules are less well-aligned and it’s just the two of them and Rachel, who isn’t even there the whole time, tittering in and out on errands. It’s a great chance for them to touch base.   
  
Mason presses his ankle into Madison’s. “Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” she says. “So um. How long, do you think?"   
  
"Oh,” he says, because weirdly, he hadn’t even thought of that. “I’m. I dunno.”  
  
“Yeah,” she says. “I mean, I guess in the meantime we just - deal with it? Maybe it wears off on its own.”  
  
“I sure hope so,” he says. “I don’t know how we’d - what we’d have to do, to undo it.”  
  
“Yeah,” she says again. She reaches out and fusses with his (her) hair, getting the spiral curl to sit just right. He rolls his neck around and around so the ponytail follows in a big, silly circle, and she laughs at him.   
  
“It’s so long! How do you do it?”  
  
“It’s just - normal! Oh my gosh.”  
  
Rachel blusters back in through her office and into the room, spreading some sheet music out on the piano to sort through. “Hello darlings!” she coos. “I’m so glad you two got home okay after last night…” She winks at them. “Are you working on vocals or choreography today?”  
  
They shoot each other a look, anklebones knocking - they hadn’t even thought of  _that_ , either. Mason’s still struggling with Madison’s body and he knows she’s been having trouble with his voice. They’d been working on a pretty great duet - dancier than their usual, as per this week’s theme - but if they’re still backward in each other’s bodies by Monday afternoon when the assignment is due…  
  
He digs his fingernails lightly into her knee:  _Do we have a plan?_  
  
She answers with a hand up, first to stroke her (his) bangs out of her face but the motion continues down to sweep across her shoulder:  _Do the one thing first._  "Actually,“ she says, standing up and stepping down the risers, "we were kind of hoping for a little bit of help on a last-minute change we might be making.”  
  
“Oh?” says Rachel. “Well, I have my fair share of experience in last-minute changes, so sure, what’s the sitch?”  
  
Mason catches on, and joins her. “Well, we’ve always admired Kurt and the way he’s become accustomed to adapting songs traditionally performed by women into his own style,” he says, affecting Madison’s usual vocal cadence as best he can and, if you ask him, totally succeeding. Mads knocks her heel into his own like clicking ruby slippers, and he tries not to grin too hard - she’s jealous.   
  
“Yes, well, Kurt has to make his own path, as I’m sure you know.”  
  
“Right,” says Madison in Mason’s voice. “So, we thought - we love the duet we’ve chosen, but what if we reversed the parts? So that I’m performing the girl’s part and Madison is singing as the boy?"   
  
"I think that’s brilliant!” Rachel says, clapping her hands together just once. “And if you’re incorporating that into this week’s assignment theme to try to get our choreography back up to standards for sectionals, you might even go so far as to have Madison lead a couple’s dance with you following in the traditional feminine role there as well - here, Madison, you’re a cheerleader, I’m sure you’re very athletic, can you handle holding Mason in a dip?” She manhandles them into position until Mason is wrapping Madison up in his arms, locking one in a tight bar across the small of her (his) back, straining with the weight of his solid-muscled body in her grip but holding steady. She does something - unusual, with his eyes and eyelashes, an expression that he doesn’t think he’s ever made on his face himself before, and it rustles through him low inside his (her) chest in a sensation he’s also definitely not familiar with. It’s all too subtle for Rachel to notice, though. Twin stuff.   
  
“Yes!” Rachel says instead. “Oh my goodness, you two are just a delight. You know,” she whispers conspiratorily, “you do kind of remind me of Kurt and myself when we were first getting over our differences and learning to love and synchronize with each other. I couldn’t be happier to have you two on this team.”  
  
“Thanks, Ms. Berry,” Madison says, standing back up to relieve Mason of the weight of her.   
  
“Talk to Kurt about transposing your music around if you need it, he’s the piano man after all.” She winks again. “Mason, though, you do have quite an impressive range, so on the right piece you might be all right as is.”  
  
Mason preens. “Thank you, Ms. Berry,” he says, without thinking. He tenses as soon as it’s out of his mouth, and shoots Madison a look; she’s pursing her lips and her hand is twitching hard in an effort not to slap her palm to her face.  
  
Rachel studies on them a little, clearly unnerved. “You…are welcome,” she says, hesitantly. “Okay, well. I have a lunch date with my daddy in a little bit so I’m going to head out. Please use this time to get started on that reversed choreography! I can’t wait to see what you two pull together for this!” She gives them each one arm’s worth of a hug, lays the rest of the sheet music down in a single stack, and then bustles back out, walking like a real New Yorker. Madison swats the back of her hand into the front of Mason’s shoulder.  
  
“Sorry!” he says instantly. “It’s a lot easier to - I totally remembered to answer to  _your_  name, when we were apart, it’s just hard to - ”  
  
“Not answer to  _your_  name too, I know. Someone yelled ‘Madison’ in the hall earlier and I spun around to look but they were looking for that other Madison, the girl from health class. I don’t think anyone noticed but I felt like an idiot like right away. This is crazy.”  
  
“Too crazy,” Mason agrees. “Um,  _but_ , way to  _kill_  it with that reversed duet idea, genius!”  
  
“Right? I know how you get when I’m the first one to get a good idea - ”  
  
“Just remember, I was the first one to get the bright idea to be born.”  
  
“My three-minutes-older brother,” says Mads, socking a little fake punch into his arm. Mason tries not to react, but it stings, and he remembers that. He didn’t realize that that actually kind of hurt. Maybe once this whole thing is - undone, he won’t do it so much.  
  
“This could be fun,” he says. “I mean, if it - lasts. There’s a lot of stuff we don’t get to do as - ourselves, you know? Like. Songs I wanna sing but my voice is too low - ”  
  
“Or cheer moves, definitely!” she says. “As long as we’re stuck like this - ”  
  
“We should try to get as much of it in as we can.” Mason nods. “Okay, holla! Get your sheet music out, let’s see if - ” He tries to fake Rachel’s voice, which is both easier and harder to do using Mads’s vocal cords. “If my  _range is quite impressive_ , after all.”  
  
“Di- _va_.”  
  
“You know it.”  
  
—  
  
At lunch, Mason has a bite of salad halfway to his mouth when he stops, and fixes her with a look. “So like, you think it was the pot?”  
  
The bite is just hovering there on his fork and she can't  _help_  it - she cranes across the table and eats it right off instead, laughing when he snatches the utensil back. “Yeah,” she says after a minute, keeping her (his) voice low to match. “I mean. What else would’ve done it?”  
  
“Ew,” says Kitty Wilde from the other end of the table. “Honestly.” Madison rolls her eyes.   
  
“I looked up, online, at the party,” says Mason. “When you - eat it, instead of smoking it, traces of it stay in your body for a lot longer. So like you’re not high or anything but you still wouldn’t pass a drug test.”  
  
“Makes sense,” Madison says. “So maybe that’s?”  
  
“Yeah.” That’s when it’ll wear off. She stretches her legs out under the table and all the way across to prop her feet up on the bench next to Mason; he bangs out a little pattern on the toes of her sneakers before shoving them off again. Now they’re just being silly, but they know Kitty is watching and it’s fun to see how sick they can make her.   
  
“It’s funny,” Mase says suddenly, setting his (her) jaw in a way that’s - unusual, unfamiliar to Madison on her own face. “I started thinking about ways it might undo itself and it just kind of felt like a fairy tale, you know? Like maybe we’d have to - ”  
  
“Oh.” She pulls her gaze up from his jawline just an inch or so, to the (well-glossed, good job bro!) bow of her own mouth, parted just slightly like he’s not sure what to do with her face. Something pricks up the inside of her thighs like plucking a stringed instrument, in a sensation she’s definitely not familiar with. It leaves her scratching hot at the back of her neck. She jams her own fork into the salad and steals another big bite of it, needing to do something.   
  
Kitty pretends to vomit and grabs her lunch tray, leaving their table full of Cheerios and taking two or three of her closest lackeys with her. Mason sniggers into his carton of juice, and Madison laughs, too, the awkwardness dissipating.   
  
—  
  
They do end up skipping cheer practice, at least for now. Madison definitely doesn’t trust herself to catch flyers when she’s still kind of struggling with catching  _herself_  every time she overcorrects in Mason’s longer, broader body, and anyway, the two of them just kind of want to be - alone, to catch a break and really think on the whole situation.  
  
Here’s the situation: Mason and Madison have swapped bodies, presumably due to some hella weird weed at the Hella Fiesta courtesy of one Noah Puckerman. There’s no solid end in sight; Madison skimmed over a page she googled up about “edibles” and it could take one day or four days or more to be completely free of the chemicals and stuff that come from cannabis - and that’s all assuming that the switch will be reversed when the weed is gone. In the meantime, they’re harnessing as much of their twinny power as they can to keep things from getting too weird or uncontrollable.   
  
The problem is, neither one of them have showered since yesterday morning - before getting wasted last night - and there’s only so crusty they can get before it starts to be unbearable.  
  
“Maybe just. With an eyemask or something?” says Mason, wetting his lips nervously. “You don't  _really_  have to see, to shower - ” But she can tell even as he’s saying it that he doesn’t quite believe that that would solve their problems. It’s less about seeing and more about - feeling. (They _have_ both had to awkwardly navigate through peeing, after all.) The idea of being naked and alone in her brother’s body - whether he wants her to have that kind of access or not - is so disorienting and weird that it’s messing with her head.  
  
“Look, tomorrow’s Saturday,” she says, “and we’re grounded forever, so it’s not like we’re going anywhere. So the way I see it we can put it off for a while longer yet…”  
  
“Or just rip it off like a bandaid,” Mason finishes. “God. Wow. Okay. Um. Are you going to want - your legs shaved?”  
  
“It’s almost November, we can skip it for now,” she assures him. “Uhh. I guess I will go first?”  
  
“You go first!” he says, her voice squeaking around his words. So she hops up off his bed, picks up his towel, and braces herself for the inevitable.  
  
“Be careful with uh - the d-downstairs,” Mase stutters. “Just use the Old Spice stuff all over and uh, hair, just like, condition twice.”  
  
That relaxes her the tiniest bit. “Aww, I always condition twice too.”  
  
“Really?” he says. “Perf.”  
  
“Perf,” she echoes.  
  
But the situation is far, far from perf.   
  
She does keep her eyes mostly closed for most of the shower. She’s just not sure if that actually  _helps_. The routine she’s used to, with her body wash and moisturizer and the parts of herself that need a…gentler touch, all of that goes out the window when she’s fumbling gangly with super-boy-smelling soap and trying to position herself under the showerhead in a way that actually keeps her mostly wet and warm, not used to the extra length of Mason’s body.  
  
Oh, god, there’s no way around it, she’s naked in Mason’s body. And she has to clean the - downstairs.  
  
Despite wearing his skin all last night and through today, Madison has done her best to avoid the reality of being equipped with boy equipment. It’s meant shuffling her legs around more than usual, never quite looking both natural  _and_  comfortable in a chair, doing that “man-spread” thing she hates, but for the most part it’s been out of sight, out of mind. But she knows from basic health class that this is a place where boys need to get extra-clean, not like girls who can kind of - self-regulate - so she sets his extra-firm loofah back into the shower caddy and tugs down his washcloth instead, soaping it up just a tiny bit and delaying the inevitable for as long as possible before -   
  
wrapping Mason’s broad hand gently around his soft-nestled cock, lifting and scrubbing and  _oh_. Oh good golly  _fuck_. Madison, wearing Mase’s body, has given said body a semi-erection.  
  
“This is so dang weird,” she hisses to herself, cracking one eye open just to see. Other than a couple of times as kids - which totally doesn’t count - Madison has never really seen her brother’s penis - or any live, in-person penis, if she’s being perfectly honest. She’s definitely never seen one that’s stiffening up, throbbing a little as it comes to life in the crook of her palm, and she’s definitely never  _felt_  what that’s like from inside her own head and body, and whoa, dang. She’s not surprised that boys have a reputation for masturbating much more than girls as teenagers, if this is what first discovering that you can get a hard-on on purpose is like.   
  
It hits her all of the sudden what she’s actually doing, and it’s kind of like that one and only time she and Mason got “slushied” the way it hits her. What is she  _doing_? Regardless of their bizarro-town circumstances right now, she can’t in any sort of good conscience  _use_  her brother’s body like this. She needs to get it together, get clean and then get out of the shower, and pray that this one time is enough to keep her/him clean until their bodies are back to normal again. She shuffles his genitals around as best she can without grazing where it’s too-too sensitive and swipes the washcloth careful, careful over all the dangling parts until it feels like what she would say passes for “clean.” Then she runs her hands through her (his) hair again really quickly, to make sure the conditioner’s all rinsed out and cleared away, and then she shuts the shower off entirely and flings the curtain open, grasping for a towel to wrap around herself before she gets tempted to see - or  _do_  - anything more. She wraps it high under her armpits like she would in her own body and steps out onto the bathmat and over to the sink.  
  
With the bathroom fan on and the door on her side of the bathroom open, the steam hasn’t really had a chance to collect too badly, so the mirror is clear when Madison looks into it and studies on her brother’s face. It’s weird, because she usually thinks about them looking “the same” - they're  _twins_ , after all - but he really is…pretty handsome. She knows he hates how his chin kind of juts but she likes it, thinks it makes him look rakish, especially with the way his hair’s cut longer in the front now - he’s growing into his looks, just like she is, she supposes. She cranes into the mirror and peers across at her brother’s face looking back at her, studying on it closely. She can’t believe she looks at this face so much every day and yet she’s never really  _known_  it like she’s learning to now. It’s so much different when it's  _you_.  
  
She messes around with his eyebrows, trying to raise just the left one like she does with her own face - but she can’t. Curious, she raises the right one instead, and it’s no problem. She thumbs at his cheekbones, his jaw, his teeth. Her eyes catch on his hand. Have Mase’s hands always been so  _big_ …?   
  
There’s that spike through her legs again, like in the cafeteria before, and when she looks down to frown at it, she sees that…what she’d started, in the shower, hasn’t really gone anywhere. It’s still jutting out just a little bit underneath the towel, an almost obscene protrusion that sends her cheeks and the back of her neck flushing red hot. And that’s a sensation she  _is_  familiar with. Her throat closes up tight in shame.  
  
This is more than just accidental stimulation of a dick she’s not accustomed to having. Her own brother’s body is turning her on.   
  
“Well,” she whispers, “everyone always says - what’s the first thing you’d do if you ended up in an opposite-sex body…” Her kosher answer is exactly what they’d talked about earlier, at school: try new vocal parts, new athletic moves, that her own estrogen-tastic body just isn’t equipped for. But everyone knows what the real NSFW answer is. And unlike what Madison is assuming is everyone else on the face of planet Earth, she’s finally getting a chance to take that answer for a spin.  
  
And yet…it's  _Mason_.   
  
But then - that’s just it.  _It’s Mason_.   
  
And god, her brother is - he’s beautiful. He’s so much sexier than she’s ever given him credit for outside of jokes and games. Slowly, her arousal warring with her dirty guilt, Madison lowers the towel from up around her chest to low, low on her hips, the way a “real boy” would wear it, in the locker rooms after Cheerio practice or around the house trying to impress his sister’s friends. His shoulders taper so smoothly down into his chest, which is well-defined from cheer but not scary beefy or bulging in weird places; she runs the edge of a thumb hard down across his left pec and his ribs and his abs, feeling how little give there is there, bone and hard muscle. It’s exactly the kind of shape Madison really, really likes boys to be in - when she’s looking at boys, anyway - and her own touch only serves to turn her on more. Even as her brain is reeling,  _what will I tell Mase, how will I tell him, will he still love me once he knows how awful I am_ , her body - his body - is responding to…his body, and to the shapes and the power of it as she pivots in the mirror, feminine mannerisms giving his masculine form a sweet funny twist when she rocks this way or that to get a better look at his arms, at his obliques. God, she bets his back is incredible.   
  
A sudden knock at the door to Mason’s room almost startles her clear through the roof. “Mads?” Mason calls, his (her) voice still sounding a little strange and clumsy. “You almost done?"   
  
Oh good golly  _fuck_. "J-just a second!” she says. “Um - I don’t think I have any of - your - ”  
  
“I have some - boxers,” he says. “I can just - ”  
  
“Oh. Cool. Good. Yeah, come - come in."   
  
"Uhhhhh. Okay. Okay.”  
  
It seems like an eternity, but Mason opens the door between his room and the bathroom, and Madison turns slowly to look at him, and he’s -   
  
Stripped out of her Cheerio uniform, and edging into the bathroom in just her mismatched white bra and green bikini briefs, the look on his (her!) face beyond distressed.  
  
“Mads I’m so sorry, I just, oh my god, I just - I wanted to  _adjust_ , since I knew I was going to have to shower and I didn’t - please tell me you’ll still love me once you know how -  _awful_  I am - ”  
  
He sets her jaw into a facial expression that is pure  _Mason_ , and Madison doesn’t care how narcissistic it is to be turned on by that - she reaches out, grabs him by the shoulder and kisses him, hard and fast on her own mouth.  
  
“Mase,” she breathes, “oh god.”  
  
“Oh my god Madison, you’re - I’m - ” and in the same breath -   
  
“Girl horny is so  _weird_.”  
“Boy horny is so  _weird_.”  
  
He pulls back and runs his nose up the column of her neck, inhaling deep around her hairline. “I never thought seeing myself with a boner would be this hot,” he whimpers. “I guess it’s different when it’s you.”  
  
“It’s always different, when it’s us,” says Madison. She cups his face in her (his - god,  _big_ ) hands and tugs their mouths together again, tasting her own déjà-vu-familiar flavor and chapstick - his Burt’s Bees, not her vanilla, which makes her smile.   
  
“For the record,” he says, “your boobs also are - kind of amazing? Have they always been so - ”  
  
“I um. I went up a cup size over the summer.”  
  
He gasps in realization. “That one shopping trip you went on with Celeste without me!” She nods. Nervously, she reaches out and palms over one of them; the whole thing fits in her grasp like this, and Mason  _rocks_ , trembling, hands clutching at her biceps to keep her upright. She does it again, just to watch him quiver, lips parted in a breathless gasp. God, they're  _both_  really hot. For two super self confident bi kids who spend like, every waking moment together, they should’ve figured this out sooner.   
  
“You’re a good kisser,” Mason tells her pleasantly, leaning up to do it again.  
  
“You too,” she says, in between smooth slides of their lips, Mase cradling her jaw just so to line them up perfectly, a move she’s seen him use at least once on Jane; she pictures him doing it with his own body, these big broad hands being so delicate, so precise, and her (his; god) cock feels a little hotter and stiffer just thinking about it.   
  
“I’m getting this vibe that we’re about to go jerk off together,” Mason says.  
  
“Oh god, yes, I was just trying to think, my bed or - ”  
  
“Mine,” Mason decides, and yes, that sounds  _right_  somehow, and they stumble back out into Mason’s bedroom, spilling into his broad bed, sunset-gold duvet and cream-colored sheets that just  _smell like him_  (and like she does now too, in his body, she realizes, that Old Spice and conditioner and just  _Mason-ness_  clean underneath), lying down side by side with their hands and lips still stroking, kissing, holding. Madison reaches back and pops her bra clasp open one-handed.  
  
“Oh, dang, teach me how to do that,” Mason breathes, and she laughs at him. And then -   
  
“Teach me how to do - this,” she murmurs, and she plucks his hand up, and guides it, along with his own, down to where she’s _hard_ , boy horny is  _so_  weird, but she’s kind of loving it, transfixed by how a man with a dick can get like this and not be able to hide it at all, how his body proclaims his desire to the world. She wraps a hand around it, and even Mase’s big broad hands look - oh god, she’s realizing just right in this second, her brother has a  _big_  cock. Because of course he does. He curls his (her) hand back overtop of his, painted nails looking small and sweet and so feminine against her, and with a soft sweet little pressure he guides them first down, then back up, working in a rhythm that seems - incredibly natural, to Madison, all of the sudden.  
  
“A-assuming that my body still likes the same thing whether I’m in it or you’re in it,” Mason babbles, working the rhythm harder, and Madison tries to memorize it - looser near the spongy mushroom head, more of a stroking sort of thing, then curling tighter and digging in down near the base, until you  _jerk_  back out and start the roll of the wrist over, that’s why they call it jerking off, and soon she’s really, really feeling it, the divot of her collarbone sweating and those pangs in her thighs pulling tighter and tighter, the same twinge working into her shoulderblades and the small of her back. She forces her eyes not to close, pushes her gaze all over the two of them lying here together - her in Mason’s body, his great physique in tight relief as she strains toward orgasm (seriously any second now), and him in  _her_  body, lounging there wearing nothing but Christmas-green underpants, hair spilling messy across smooth lithe shoulders, her boobs looking super-good where they bounce and jostle with each nudge of Mason’s arm as he jerks her between them. They’re both so good and they look so good  _together_ , complementing each other perfectly, like always, a matched set.  
  
God, any way you look at it, Madison is getting off to both her brother and herself, and that has got to be three different kinds of effed up.  
  
“This is like, five different kinds of effed up, you know that?” Mason whispers in her ear. “But I want to kiss you, Mads. I want to kiss  _you_. And yet kind of also - ”  
  
“Kiss yourself? Just to -  _see_  - ”  
  
Mason presses his lips back to hers and they suck long, deep,  _hard_ , and before she knows it Madison is coming, shooting off over their double-curled hands in a way that, oh, yeah, boy orgasm. Kind of messy, kind of weird, kind of super hot. She lifts her hand to her mouth to taste it almost immediately without even thinking about it.  
  
“You taste good, Mase.”  
  
“Shit,” he hisses, and his clean hand steals down to slip against his (her) own slickness, stroking outside and inside, looking for the best places to - “How do I - ”  
  
“Here,” she says. She takes her own clean hand - left-handed, it’ll be a smidge clumsier, but they can’t risk it with the - stuff - and if she knows her own body it’s not going to take much to get her there, she’s so keyed up - Her first instinct is to slide two long, strong fingers straight down the wet slit of him and then  _inside_ , where it’s hot and clenching and responding just how Madison thinks she would, if she were getting filled up like this. Mason moans in her voice and she kisses him again. With her hand inside holding him full and open, he uses his hand to thumb around up top, Madison’s clit swollen up so, so sensitive after all they’ve been going through. She guides him a little but she finds she doesn’t need to, he’s catching on so fast - god,  _she_  can practically feel it, even outside of her own body and in his, the pleasure coursing through him. She realizes that maybe they’ve been feeling it in this feedback loop all along. She kisses him harder.  
  
“What is it like,” he asks, their fingers tangling together and slipping and stroking harder, harder, “how will I know - ”  
  
“You’ll know,” she promises him, her come-slicked hand reaching up to palm across one breast, thumb snagging at the nipple loose but deliberate. Her other hand scissors inside of him, twisting and scraping. He’s, like,  _sopping_  wet. She’s glad he hasn’t showered already.   
  
“Madison,” he whispers, “gosh, Madison.” And then he clenches hard from his stomach all down through his toes, walls going tight- _tighter_  around Madison’s fingers - he’s coming, rocking with the pulses, knees knocking and mouth faltering and gasping in their kisses.   
  
It’s like any energy either of them had was coiled into that orgasm, and as soon as Mason spent it, their puppet-strings were all cut at once. After a rough night, a long day and a crazy afternoon, they finally crash, adrift in the sunny sea of Mason’s bed, messy and cloudy with lingering taboo-paranoia and confusion and yet, ultimately, satisfaction.   
  
Madison’s never come with someone else before, and she’s kind of really, really glad it was Mason, even if it was in the weirdest freaking way possible.  
  
They have just enough wits about the two of them for Madison to set an alarm to go off at 4:45 - enough time for them to wake up, get themselves sorted, and look presentable before Celeste gets home from work - and for Mason to curl their bodies up comfy together, like they were at the party, her (his) head pillowed against his (her) stomach, blanket tugged up over their hips.  
  
“Hey,” he whispers to her.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Kitty was right."   
  
They crack up laughing, and then drift off to sleep.  
  
—  
  
It’s after dinner and they’re together on Mads’s bed, trying to work on some homework. They still haven’t switched back to normal yet - so much for his theory about fairy-tale kisses reversing the situation - but after spending a whole day in Madison’s body, Mason is finally starting to feel comfortable with it, like maybe tomorrow he won’t be so fumbling and weird, and maybe by Monday they could even handle Cheerios, or their glee duet. He’ll obviously feel way better once he’s back in his own skin, but for now, it’s kind of like - having Madison with him, everywhere he goes, even more than usual. And that’s kind of nice.  
  
"What’d you get for seventeen-A?” she asks, brandishing a notebook toward his face. It’s funny to see her handwriting tumbling out of his hands.  
  
“Wow, so not the same thing you got, yikes.” It’s like he didn’t even copy the problem down right - oh. He didn’t copy the problem down right.  
  
She laughs and nudges the book across the bedspread toward him, and he cranes his nose down to look at it, her hair (still a little bit wet - he hasn’t yet braved the hair dryer, that’s their next set of switcheroo lessons) spilling down loose over his shoulders. After a minute, Madison makes a soft little noise, and he turns to look at her. God, even wearing his face, she looks beautiful.   
  
“I’m sorry if it gets weird - with me, or with, with Jane,” she murmurs. “But - I’m glad it was you.”  
  
He strokes his thumb across her ankle:  _I know exactly what you mean._    
  
She giggles and touches her face:  _I guess I knew you would._  
  
In glee club Monday afternoon, Mason-in-Madison’s-body wears the Cheerios-issued track pants and Madison-in-Mason’s-body tugs on the skirt, and Roderick and Jane and Rachel (and Tina, who’s still there for some reason) howl with delight as the two of them knock Love Is An Open Door from Frozen out of the park, frolicking all over the classroom and nailing their dance moves perfectly singing mismatched parts on each other’s voices. At Cheerio practice Monday night, Madison-in-Mason’s-body pops Mason-in-Madison’s-body up onto her shoulder like it’s nothing, and Mason may or may not swoon, just a little, at how  _good_  they are together. And on Tuesday morning, Mason-in-Madison’s-body wakes up a few minutes before his alarm is set to go off and he’s - just Mason, in Mason’s body, transplanted to Madison’s bed where she’d been sleeping in her sheets in his skin, and now that things are back to normal, he almost sort of misses it.   
  
Almost.  
  
Because Tuesday afternoon, with no Cheerios and no glee but still totally grounded forever, they come straight home, and slink into the shower together, ready to relearn themselves and each other from the outside in.  
  
“Kiss me,” says Mads, eyes searching his face so soft and intent, and it means,  _I’m glad it was you._    
  
“Let’s just - ” He doesn’t finish, just kisses her, tilts her jaw up so careful, just so, and doesn’t finish - doesn’t say  _Let’s just keep doing it, let’s just see where this takes us, let’s just forget how we got here and still love each other even though we’re awful_  - because he knows that she knows. At school they’ll do the one thing first, so that here alone together, they can do the two thing, that only twins can have.  
  
And for  _damn_  sure, they will never, ever, ever take marijuana from Noah Puckerman again. But Wednesday at lunch, Mason buys her a Twix bar out of the vending machine.


End file.
